by Tim Morgan
The Trip
By
Tim Morgan
Copyright © 2008 Tim Morgan
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781480111233
For you, because you stand among the stars that guide me at night.
For you, because you are the sun that lights the day.
ONE
It’s really flat out here, and with the tailwind we’ve been making good time across a lot of nothing since the soldiers let us through the roadblock. There hasn’t been a single car on the road since we crossed through. Sometimes I forget about the evacuations and think it’s just because we’re in the middle of nowhere that we don’t see anyone.
Every once in a while we come across an open house. If we’re lucky the electricity is still on and the water is still running, so we’ve been able to keep our Camelbaks full. Sometimes there’s food in the fridge and the stove works. We’re careful to lock all the doors and keep the lights off at night. We don’t like sleeping outside unless we really have to.
We’ve spent the last couple days resting in a house. It’s a little thing, a trailer really, but we can all sleep at night and it’s got a working toilet. According to the map and the GPS, we’re a couple miles from Goodhue. I’m scared. When the wind changes there’s this smell – this really horrible smell. You know in the summer, when the stink from the sewer plant just kind of lingers like a really bad fart? It’s kind of like that, but worse. A lot worse.
We’ve looked all over the map – I think we should go around. I think it’s stupid for us to go there, even if it adds another week onto the trip home we should go around it. Chris disagrees. He says the easiest way through is the direct route, that the highways are jammed with abandoned cars and that by the time we get to the other side we’ll be too tired to ride any further. Dave agreed with me, but we settled things the same way we’ve been doing it since we started this trip. We put our reflectors in a helmet, shake it up and pull one out. Whoever has their name drawn gets to decide what we do. Chris won.
I want to believe he’s right, that we could cut a couple of days off the trip if we just suck it up and ride like hell. I hope that stink is the dump or the sewers or something perfectly normal, that those things that used to be human aren’t out there waiting for us. I pray this is just a bad dream and I’m going to wake up from it and you’ll be there, telling me everything is OK and wiping my tears away. But I know none of that is true, and I’m scared.
I hate to leave my blog like this, but I’m low on battery power and the sun hasn’t been cooperating. I’ll write more when we get to the other side. I have to go.
Meghan closed her laptop. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and blinked back tears as she rolled up her solar panel. Dave was in the kitchen filling the water packs. Chris kept watch from the picture window.
“I don’t see any of them,” Chris whispered. “We can make it to the bikes.” Meghan crawled up to the window and poked her head over the edge. The bikes stood against the only tree in the yard less than thirty feet away. Last night they may as well have been on Mars. Why didn’t they park closer to the house?
A group of zombies had wandered through the yard during the night. Twelve, maybe 15 of them. Meghan couldn’t tell in the dark, and didn’t dare turn the lights on lest they draw their attention. Instead the three of them had huddled on the floor, Meghan holding Dave’s head to her chest and rocking him as she prayed the moaning flock would just go away. Chris slept lightly on the outside, a large kitchen knife in his hand.
Dave crawled to the window, water packs in one hand and a crowbar in the other. He handed out the water packs. He and Chris tried not to look at one another.
“What’s with the knife?” Meghan asked.
“If they get close we can stab them with this,” Chris said.
Dave looked at the knife and shook his head. “What I wouldn’t give for a gun,” he said.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to go through Goodhue,” Meghan said. “That smell – it must be swarming with those things.”
“The soldiers said there’s an outpost near Rochester. We can rest up and restock there. Going around means we cut through Wisconsin. There are no outposts there and we’ll run out of food,” Chris insisted as he pulled on his Camelbak. “We drew from the helmet, and my reflector came up. Whoever gets picked makes the decision, and we all go along with it. That’s the deal.”
Dave nodded slowly. “That’s the deal.” Dave put his backpack on, then helped Meghan get hers ready.
“Those things should be long gone,” Chris said. He slowly stood up. Meghan and Dave followed his lead. Chris threw the deadbolt, then slowly opened the door. He looked both ways, then stepped out onto the front step. He waved Meghan and Dave out.
Picking reflectors was supposed to be how we chose where we slept or what we had for dinner, thought Meghan, not how you would get all of us killed. Meghan stepped out, her eyes scanning the area through her blowing hair. Dave was right behind her. They took one step, then another, when Chris froze.
“Shit!”
A sub-human groan filled the air, followed by another. And another. And another. By that point nobody was paying attention – they were all booking it toward the bikes.
“Go! Go! Go!” Chris shouted.
Dave’s hand grabbed the back of Meghan’s collar and half dragged her to the bikes. They scrambled to get their gear tied down. Meghan looked up as she strapped the laptop down with a shock chord. A mob of zombies was tearing down the road toward them, rotting arms outstretched.
“Meghan! Get on the bike!” Dave shouted. She was halfway on and throwing up the kickstand before he could finish the sentence. Dave was right beside her, Chris in front.
“Follow me – we’ll ride through them!” Chris shouted. “Single file!”
Chris took the lead, Meghan was second, Dave brought up the rear. Meghan’s legs burned as she pumped the pedals with everything she had. They were closing on the zombies fast – faster than Meghan expected.
The last hundred feet went in slow motion. Meghan saw Chris dart between two of the zombies. She set her eyes on that spot and followed. Rotting hands reached for her, the moans faded quickly behind her but the stench hung in her nose. Chris darted here and there, riding faster than Meghan had ever seen him ride before. She caught a glance of Dave out of the corner of her eye, slightly ahead and to her left. She kept her eyes ahead, slaloming through the mass of groaning zombies in a hellish downhill race. She lost track of Chris as she zigged and zagged and she didn’t know whether Chris made it but really didn’t care as long as she got through this horrible mess. Oh why-the-hell-did-I-do-this?
Meghan’s pulse pounded in her temples, the sickening stench of rotting flesh hanging over the zombies in a horrible cloud. One of the zombies took a step toward her, right into her path. Meghan tucked in and swerved hard, barely missing the zombie and almost smashing into Dave. A second later – Meghan didn’t think she’d even blinked – they broke free into open road. Chris was only a bike length, maybe two, ahead of them. The three kept pedaling for all they were worth. They crested a hill and lost sight of the zombies.
“We made it,” Chris said, his voice trembling. “Holy shit, we made it! Meghan, we made it!”
“We’ve gone two blocks!” Dave shouted. “No matter what happens, keep moving and for God’s sake, be careful!”
Meghan took a sip of water, desperate to quench the burning in her throat, drown the fire in her lungs, stem the tears rolling down her face. She was caught in the turmoil between a fear greater than any she’d ever known and feeling more alive than she’d ever thought possible.
TWO
Mumbai, India (Reuters) A previously unidentified strain of flu has sickened thousands in Indi
a’s financial capital. Hospitals and clinics are jammed with the sick and Ministry of Health officials are concerned Mumbai could become the catalyst for a pandemic outbreak. The Indian government is confident the outbreak can be contained and are not seeking help from the international community at this time.
Meghan pulled her car into the school parking lot, blasting a Taylor Swift CD in the radio. The music was almost loud enough to drown the squeal of her decade-old Honda protesting as she took the corner a little too tight. A few heads not plugged into MP3 players turned to see what was up, but took little notice and went right back to the early-morning zombie shuffle.
It was September and senior year was still exciting. Meghan was still riding the wave of euphoria she felt since getting the Berkeley acceptance letter. She’d managed to not only get into a program she wanted, but into the school she wanted, and it was clear across the country. The quiet girl from Massachusetts would finally be out on her own. She’d finally be an independent woman, away from her parents and annoying little Karen and this town. Meghan figured she’d definitely miss her parents, her dog Rocket, and to some degree Karen…but definitely not the town. She’d been dreaming of getting out of Billerica since seventh grade, when things like zits and cliques and all the other bullshit of being a teenager started encroaching on her world. She tied her auburn hair up in a ponytail using the rearview mirror.
Meghan took her backpack out of the back seat and locked the car. Locking the car was more habit based on her father’s nagging than anything else. It’s not like there was anything particularly valuable in the car – it still had the original radio, and Meghan burned downloaded MP3s onto homemade CDs. She was probably the most important thing in the car, save for the gas, and there wasn’t much of that most of the time.
Meghan waved her ID in front of the reader and waited for the door lock to click. When it did she pulled the door open and walked inside. The front hallway by the main office always had the faint smell of orange cleaner lingering in the air. Meghan didn’t care for the smell, but she cared less for fighting her way through the bus lines and the underclassmen filing into the school like cattle to a slaughterhouse.
The route to her locker brought Meghan right past the computer lab where the school newspaper was printed. Mondays brought in a pretty good crowd as Mr. Stiles would review anything big that happened over the weekend. On a slow day Meghan could hear the gang – mostly Dave - talking about movies. Sometimes – like today – there would be actual news.
“…keep your eyes on this one. It’s probably the biggest medical story since SARS and H1N1.” Mr. Stiles said. “We’re way overdue for a pandemic outbreak.”
Meghan flashed a smile to Dave, who nodded ever so slightly. If Meghan saw him in almost any other class, Dave would get a bathroom pass so he could slip out and talk. The meetings with Mr. Stiles were one of the few exceptions.
Dave’s senior year was somewhat less exciting than Meghan’s. Dave was a white-bread middle class kid, second of three children. He wasn’t old enough to do anything first and not young enough to be “the baby” and have his folks swoon over every little experience. Dave was somewhat popular with his friends – he didn’t consider himself the class clown, but his friends thought he was a lot of fun to have around. He was the one guys would go to when they needed the confidence to dump someone, and the first person the dumped would come to for comfort. Dave spent so much time comforting everyone else that he had quite a few friends – most of them female – but none of them thought about actually dating him. Dave ran hot and cold about that – it meant he could spend the bulk of his free time doing things he actually liked doing (writing a book, fishing, and hanging out with the guys). It sucked when he went to a party and saw another guy with his arm around the girl he had been comforting that afternoon.
Mr. Stiles noticed Dave when he wrote an essay in English class sophomore year about how he wanted to be a bartender after graduation, but this little thing called the drinking age meant he’d probably spend a good four years after high school driving a garbage truck or serving in the Army. When Mr. Stiles asked Dave to stay after class, he thought he was going to the principal’s office, but Mr. Stiles loved the essay. Dave never saw a teacher laugh that hard, let alone at something he wrote. Mr. Stiles knew a writer when he saw one, and Dave was a writer. Dave started collecting his clips and landed a spot at Salem State. It was close enough that he could commute and actually had a program that he was interested in.
Some idiot in the back of the room chimed in. “What’s the big deal with the flu?”
Mr. Stiles looked around the room. “Anyone want to answer that? Dave?”
Dave shifted up in his seat. “It’s a big deal if the virus mutates,” he said. “It could turn into something we have no immunity against…which would be really bad.”
“Exactly. We read about this every flu season. There’s almost always a new strain that gets a lot of attention. In 1918 there was a major outbreak that killed hundreds of thousands of people. It hit a bunch of countries at once.”
“And that was before air travel,” Dave added.
“Good point,” Mr. Stiles said. “It took a lot longer to get around back then. Imagine how fast it could spread today.”
The voice in the back of the room spoke up again. Dave didn’t know who it was, probably a freshman or something. “What are the odds of that happening?”
“Good question,” Mr. Stiles said. “It’s probably remote, but there’s always a chance it could mutate into something a lot worse than we expect.” Kids started getting ready to leave when Mr Stiles looked up at the clock. “Where does the time go?” he said. “Keep an eye on this story. I’ll see you next week.”
Chris checked his watch as he stepped out of the shower, his flip-flops clicking as he walked. He had made good time today, shaving two seconds off his 400 meter sprintand leaving him enough time to take a leisurely shower before class. Some of the slower kids would either be late or stink until after gym – if they were fortunate enough to have gym that day.
Right, left, right and Chris’ locker opened. He was toweling off when one of the underclassmen ran up to him. “Can I borrow some of your deodorant?”
Chris laughed. “No.”
“Come on!”
“No. We run five days a week. You should know how to bring your own deodorant.”
“I forgot. Come on, Chris! I don’t have time to take a shower.”
Chris stared at this kid – he must’ve been a sophomore. What was his name – Jerry? The kid always talked about his lab partner and how hot she was. He never shut up about it on the bus to a meet. If he went to class smelling like he just ran a couple miles, she’d probably ask to move. Or she’d hit him. That could be funny. Chris sprayed his armpits, then held the can out for Jerry. “Anyone else uses this and I’ll kick your ass. Put it back in my locker when you’re done and make sure you lock it up.” Chris grabbed his backpack and headed for first period.
The smell of artificial bacon burgers mixed with tater tots filled the cafeteria. Dave didn’t really care for the bacon burgers, but his locker was on the opposite end of the school. That meant Dave had two options if he brought his lunch: he could either carry it around for three periods, which left everything smashed to pieces by the time he could sit down and eat it. Or he could spend a chunk of his limited lunch period walking back and forth across the school, risking detention from the overzealous teachers prowling the halls during lunch. Since Dave still had a full set of teeth and felt he spent enough time at school during the day, buying every day was the most palatable option…even when the entrée didn’t really appeal to him.
Dave was trying to decide whether he was kind of hungry and wanted a single lunch or he was starving and needed a double lunch when Meghan showed up, her backpack slung over her shoulder. She tugged on Dave’s arm.
“Oh, hi,” Dave said.
“Hi. Where’s Chris?” Meghan asked.
“I thi
nk he’s already at the table.”
“Cool. I printed out some maps of the Northern Tier bike route. It runs from Washington to Bar Harbor, Maine.”
“Bar Harbor? That’s a good five hour drive in a car.” Dave looked over the lunch choices. The alternate was frozen pizza. He was sick of pizza but couldn’t stand the fake bacon burger. Dave took a pizza and thought about picking up a lunchbox.
“We don’t have to follow their route. We have a couple choices. We can head north and catch the trail in New Hampshire, then follow it through Vermont.” Meghan grabbed a bacon burger, no fries.
Dave paid for his lunch. “We’d hit a bunch of mountains right off the bat. That could burn us out before we even get started.”
“Right. The other thing I was thinking was we could scoot out western Massachusetts, through New York along the Pennsylvania border, and pick up the trail near Lake Erie. I’ll show you on the map when we sit down.”
They made their way through the students in the cafeteria. Chris was at their usual table, half finished with his lunch while he worked on his algebra homework.
“Meghan printed the trail map last night,” Dave said as Meghan pulled the map out of her backpack. “We were just talking about the route.”
“We were IM-ing about it last night,” Chris said. “Since we’ve got about eight weeks to do the trip, I’m not too keen on going through New Hampshire and Vermont.”
Dave nodded. Meghan pointed to the map. “We cut through here and we probably save a couple days,” she said.
“Wow,” Dave said as he looked at the map, “Three thousand miles on bikes. Are we nuts?”
“We’re seniors,” Chris said, “we’re supposed to do crazy shit like this. This could be the last summer I don’t need to spend working. I want to do something I’ll remember. Something fun.”
“Something exciting,” Meghan said. “It’s not that crazy, either. Plenty of people do this every year, and most of them are in worse shape than we are.”